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I do hope Skjalm comes out somewhat alive, along with most of his army. That last line was somewhat foreboding though.
 
Aaaaaah, the references! Assassin's Creed first, and then Star Wars too?! You madwoman.

A bad feeling, huh? Maybe... maybe... it's a trap! xP

I will enjoy reading the next tale, the tension is definitely built and I can't wait to read how things will go for Skjalm and his army. At least he knows how to rile them up, now all they need to do is survive....
 
Having finished my Nano and set myself up with a renewed sense of discipline, I ought to be picking this up again soon. I just need to figure out how to handle the battle.
 
Indeed, we'll be waiting...
 
Overdue, but here.

RGB: By game standards, they're reasonably centralized, if inundated with a number of vassals. Army was pretty decent quality, heavy on the infantry as you said.

FlyingDutchie: Oh no no, it's a good thing that they went for me. The less pagans they annex, the more pagans for me to annex! ;) Sorry to make you wait.

Enewald: Logic and ratio-what the bloody hell are you talking about?

Ilyavania: Moar. MOAR REFERENCES. We are fed by the power of references. ...but not this episode. I do hope to use 'It's a Trap!' someday.

AlexanderPrimus: Haven't seen you in awhile, hope you're still here to read now...

SplendidTuesday: Haven't seen you in awhile either. Sorry for the delay, here's the update!

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---- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----

Chapter 34 - Battle of Sokólskie Hills

9th of February, 1076 Anno Domini

The Danes had the upper hand - their initiative had won out and the Crusading army held the crest of the hill, forcing the Kievan army to battle uphill, under fire from regiments of Scandinavian archers. The arrows poured onto their ranks with intensity, raining death upon the Russians who stubbornly continued to press up the flanks. The Kievan army was stocked full of heavy infantry that were resistant to the arrow fire, making it difficult to bring them down - return fire soared up the hill and peppered the Crusader ranks, especially aiming for the vulnerable, lightly armoured missile units.

The Russian lines grew thinner, trying to curl around the flanks of the Crusaders, who held their positions and gave little ground. The Kievan heavy infantry were tougher than any the Scandinavians had come up against before, but the vast experience the Crusaders had gained in the battle was giving them just enough of an edge. Danish axes were also good at punching through the heavy mail of their opposition, ripping metal and leather alike into pieces and slaying a man in an instant - if they got a good hit in. With the height advantage on top of it, the Danes were slowly winning the grueling battle.

On the Danes' left flank, Captain Mstislav galloped at full speed, leading his comrades into battle against their Kievan foe. Wendish cries filled the air as the light cavalry found the exposed curl of the Russian forces. Their shock was mitigated by tree and rock, and they did not have the full surprise, but the morale of the Kievans was shaken nonetheless. Mstislav himself fell to a Russian axe, his horse brought down beneath him. Dozens of others died in the ensuing melee. Skirmishes flared across the hill in various methods as the opposing sides' attempted to outflank one another, resulting only in more deaths.

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The Danish line was pushed back further, onto the crest of the hill, but the Russians were tiring themselves and depleting their numbers faster through their charge. Well-disciplined Crusaders held their lines as promised, and Skjalm allowed the faintest hint of flickering at the edges of his lips. This was going to be bloody, but at this rate, he would have the victory he so desired. He raised his sword and gestured to the archers, who were firing volleys into the Russian infantry climbing uphill, causing only the occasional casualty amongst the upturned shields and mail armour.

"Sven!" he shouted at the archer captain, a tall blonde swede of stereotypical visage. "Redirect fire, target those horsemen before they get behind us!" He pointed frantically at a group of cavalry broken free from the horse melee around them, making their way along the slope - if they made it there in peace, it would be trouble but Skjalm had no intention to let them pass unscathed.

The Swede shouted his orders, and the bowmen turned, directing their fire up and to the right. The lightly armoured Russian horse fell one by one, only their speed saving them from complete massacre. Where there had been dozens, scarcely ten made it behind their hill - Skjalm finally smiled as the ten continued riding straight, making no attempt to turn and rejoin the battle. Russian morale was beginning to falter in the face of the grueling battle.

Skjalm rode behind the lines, his mare prancing majestically and snorting in defiance, riled up by the battle. He waved his sword through the air, bellowing encouragement. "Fight on, men! Their cowardice cannot hold them much longer!"

An arrow flitted by his head, enciting a flinch, but he did not move. He needed to show no fear in front of his men, so that they would fight on the harder and the longer. The Kievan infantry were suffering heavily, the bodies piling up and tumbling down the cliff, making it harder and harder for those climbing up to keep their calm. Without a need to advance, the Crusaders simply held their ground and let the Russians break themselves on a wall of shield and spear.

"Don't give them an inch of the earth! No man gives in, show them what Danish steel is made of!" Skjalm bellowed once more.

At last, the strain of the push was becoming too much. One of the Russian regiments on the flanks faltered under the sight of so many dead and the tall, intimidating figures of the Teutonic Knights bellowing their taunts and cutting down any who came before them. At last, they turned and fled down the hillside, fearing their seemingly inevitable deaths and trampling each other in their haste. More men near the backs of the Russian lines began to break and run. After a brief pause, the horns bellowed, and the entire Russian force began to pull back, leaving their dead in a retreat.

Skjalm raised his palm to the archers, signaling that they halt. The exhausted Russians had lost their breath and their resolve, and were fleeing at full-speed, many regiments in different directions. Pursuing them would do little good given the fatigue of his own forces and his chivalry dictated he spare them the arrows in their retreat. Taking out his own horn, he blew two, short blasts - a signal to the horsemen left in action. They were to use their speed to get ahead of any Russians they could, while some of his reserve infantry would offer pursuit from behind, pressuring them to surrender en masse.

A brown horse rode across the rocky slope with care, the stern faced of Harald Ribbing gazing at his own. His marshall brought his fist to his chest and Skjalm returned the gesture with gumption.

"The battle is ours, m'lord! They are in full retreat!" Ribbing said with a grin.

Skjalm nodded. "Aye, a better victory than we could have hoped for. Fate was with us this day, Harald - as it has been for much of this crusade. Bloody though it has been, at last we stand upon the cusp of true victory."

He gritted his teeth at the thought. With the pagans crushed and the Kievans routed before him, it was likely that these lands might see peace again - and yet, here on the dawn of a new day, Asbjørn was not here to see it. So many battlefields they had fought together, both knowing they could die any day, and yet they had survived it all - until now. The final battle was spent without his longest ally at his side, and the joy of victory was robbed from him for this.

"Farewell, Asbjørn...I dedicate this victory to you, our comrade in arms. I hope that we might meet again in heaven, when the time has come." He looked up at the sky as he muttered to himself. "God be with us...victory is ours."

---- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----

23rd of January, 1076 Anno Domini

Hans glided through the crowd with his catlike grace, his plain brown clothes and hooded cloak making no impact upon the eyes of the guards. To them, he was just another Dane making his way to the square to hear the speech of their new ruler. The loose hood behind him offered nothing conspicuous, and he had come here without any obvious weapons, so that the guards upon their brief inspection found no threat. Of course, he always had his hidden dagger, exactly where he left it. It never hurt to be prepared.

The German killer folded his arms as he milled in with the crowd, watching the podium with utter boredom. He heard the idle chitchatter, rumours and supposed news from the Crusade. Apparently it was going well and they said Skjalm was on the verge of victory over the heathens once and for all. It mattered little to Hans - the chief threat to Hvide order would be dead long before Skjalm returned from his crusade.

At last, the man he was waiting for came forth - the aged figure of Rosenkrantz stood before the people, surrounded by his personal guard, a ragtag mob of mercenaries hired from amongst the populace and a handful of loyal huskarls who gave him more concern. He was a good fighter, but it was unlikely he could beat elite house guards in numbers. The Dane folded his arms behind his back and smiled.

"People of Roskilde!" He shouted over the din, until the crowd quieted. "You have all known the truth of our ruler, the evil Hertug Hvide, who with his ignorance and arrogance has robbed you all blind!"

There were rumblings of discontent. Tax rates had increased since Sjælland has gone to crusade, and tariffs levied on the merchants had been particularly unpopular amongst the burghers. Rosenkrantz and his men had been spreading discontent, turning the opinions of the people against the ruling Hvide despite their crusader's mission - none could deny that fighting in the name of God was an honourable charge, but piety alone did not fill stomachs.

"A week from now, I will be taking anyone and everyone who is willing! We have seized much of Sjælland in Hvide's absence - now we will siege Søborg and leave the snake with nothing to return to! There they have great stores of food and money, hoarded in their greed! When these are seized, we shall distribute much of it to the people, those who fought to free Sjælland from tyranny! Once again, we shall return as loyal members of Denmark, ruled by a proper King and not a Duke with ambitions above his station!"

The noble retreated from the stand, speaking briefly to one of his advisors before departing. Hans watched but couldn't catch quite what they were saying. He shook his head, it wasn't important. It was time to track his target and ensure he would be there to kill.

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The crowd held mixed reactions, some were positive, others seemed unconvinced and annoyed in general. Most were hungry and disgruntled, and those still thinking clearly would wonder why Rosenkrantz hadn't fixed anything yet. Hans, on the other hand, was well-fed and quite lucid. His eyes flitted and tracked the movements of the Jarl, the wariness of his guards, and gauged that his moment was not yet upon him. Tonight he would strike and end the life of the traitor.

---- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----​

Søren looked up, hearing the sound of a horse outside the window. Frowning, he walked over and looked - he felt safe enough on the third story after all. Looking down, he saw the beast seemed to be tied up beneath his window for some inexplicable reason. The noble huffed, but had little concern, so long as it did not interrupt his work. Closing the shutters, he returned to his desk and sat down slowly, putting his pen back to the paper.

"-thusly, I wish to propose to your Majesty that Skjalm be stripped of his office and title, and that the Hvide be reduced to the paupers that their status rightly deserves. Having attempted to steal the title of King from you and now having gone abroad on this ridiculous crusade, they have put untold strain on our fair land and weakened us against our rivals. They have abandoned their calling as Danes and become nothing but disloyal dogs who should be put down.

If your Majesty is prepared to permit it, I am working to take Søborg castle and with it, the seat of Sjælland's power. All I need is your word and I will gladly become ruler of Sjælland. My first action will be to banish the Hvide Clan from these lands for good - let them find their solace in pagan lands seeking only their death. Your sister, of course, will be exempted, and we will see to it that her husband's life is ended so that you might see her safely returned to Åarhus in due time.

It is my hope that you find these terms acceptable, and we await your response as soon as you may bring it.

May God be with you,
Søren Rosenkrantz
"

Rosenkrantz placed his pen on the table carefully and folded the letter. As he reached for the envelope, he heard a creak behind him, followed by a heavy thud. Rosenkrantz startled to his feet just as a chair slid across the room with lightning speed, pushed by a figure dressed in black leather and a billowing hooded cloak. The guard in his room lay still in a pool of his own blood. The shouts of the guards outside and attempts to open the door were met with the chair's perfect blocking, buying the mysterious man all the precious seconds he needed.

"Rosenkrantz. I have a message from Gro."

Without another word, the cloaked German's arm flung itself out, an expertly-aimed knife lodging itself in Søren's throat. The Jarl gurgled and clutched at his throat, falling back against the table, his life force draining from him. With haste, Hans crossed the room in two strides, lowering himself to rip the knife from his target, blood spurting across the floor and his gloves, staining them invisibly with red taint. A glove reached out and placed a black feather on the man's chest even as the heavy, metalbound door behind them started to splinter and shatter the oak chair under the pressure of blows from the guards outside.

"Die." Hans said to the dying man, then turned and fled to the window.

With ease of practice, the German leapt onto the windowsill, where the rope awaited him, dangling down to the horse below. Quickly, he jumped, grasping the edge of the roof above, pulling himself up with all the haste he could muster. The pre-prepared pouch and rock was there, and he grabbed it, dropping it over the edge straight down as he heard a loud crack from the room below.

The pouch struck the horse straight on the rump - a perfect hit. The horse startled and, without anyone to control it, darted off, dragging the falsely-tied rope with it. The panicked shouts of the huskarls echoed out the window, and beneath him, a head peered out into the darkness. The huskarl pointed at the horse galloping away in the darkness. "He's getting away! After him!"

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Hans grinned, remaining still so as not to betray his presence with noise. As ever, the guards had all the intelligence of any other panicked men - they saw a rope leading down and a horse fleeing. In the rush of the moment, what other conclusion would one have but that the assassin was making an escape on horseback? By the time they caught up with that horse, he would be long gone without a trace of his presence. Only the raven's feather and two bodies were left to make clear his presence.

He waited a moment for the sound of the guards' footfalls to disappear, then quickly and quietly made his way across the roof until he found the opposite side, at which point he leapt down to the next roof below. Making his way across that as quickly as he could, in the opposite direction of the horse, he found the intricate woodworks of this building perfect for a descent. Using the thick brown beams as footing, he climbed down with as much speed as he could find until at last he dropped to the floor. Like a shot, he was across the street and into the alleys. From here, it was only a brief walk until he made it to safety.

In the distance, the shouting of the guards echoed through the streets of Roskilde - it wouldn't be long before they would discover the horse was a decoy, but no one had followed him. He was home free, his mission accomplished.
 
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AlexanderPrimus: Haven't seen you in awhile, hope you're still here to read now...

Grad school does that to you sometimes. But yes, I'm still around, and very glad to see another terrific update! :D
 
The brave man will cross the mountain, unless there's a Dane on top of it, I suppose.

As for Gro, she gets to hold on to Sjaelland a little longer, all thanks to a decoy horse.
 
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Chapter 35 - Heroes' Return

29th of May, 1076 Anno Domini

Skjalm stepped from the wooden planks onto the soft beach, taking a whiff of the natural landscaping around them. They had landed on the beaches near the fishing settlement of Køpmannæhafn, and for the first time in many years, Skjalm was home. Long years of battle abroad had made him miss Sjælland, the gentle sandy beaches and the soft grasslands. The rugged landscape across the Baltic had been difficult to grow accustomed to. This felt like home.

Home, however, was not safety from his ordeal yet. He glowered at the trees around him, his beard having grown to magnificently match his red-brown mane of hair, giving him a fierce viking's look. His eyes were cold like hardened steel, years of war having embittered him and given him a warrior's instinct. Now, at last, they were home and there was one more battle to be fought before Sjælland was secure once more - Rosenkrantz.

Messages had reached him from Gro regarding the Jarl's rebellion, and how they had seized towns and villages across the entire land. As he understood it, they had made plea to the King for him to recognize their sovereignty, but the royal house had offered no response to the rebels - Skjalm supposed this was more due to the uncertainty of a rebel victory more than his love of the Hvide clan.

"What do you think sir, nice to be home?"

Harald Ribbing grinned at him. Their force was significantly reduced, in comparison to the Crusaders that had once marched across the Baltic together. A mere 1,500 Danes were left after the long, bloody campaign - still a significant force, compared to what was gained and to what the rebels would be able to muster. Each Danish soldier was a heroic warrior, hardened by experience and equipped with only the finest crusaders' gear.

"It holds a bitter taste in my mouth so long as our people are swayed by the treacherous words of a treacherous noble. I will not rest until law and order is returned to Sjælland." Skjalm said darkly.

"I want the soldiers ready to march in two days, we head straight to Søborg. I expect we will find our enemy there already."

---- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----

5th of June, 1076 Anno Domini

Harald the Young whispered in a hush to the others as they crept up the hill. "Quiet, listen!"

Harald Audensen crowded against the wall with three other boys: Jens Haraldsen Knýtling, Hemming Knudsen Knýtling and the slightly older Ernst Pedersen Hvide. What they were doing was both very dangerous and very naughty, but it was almost dawn and the adults were as of yet oblivious to their early morning adventure. They had, after all, wanted to see the outside for themselves, and as their handlers had insisted such things as 'it's too dangerous' and other silly nonsense, they had to sneak out to do it.

"What do you see?" Jens said, trying to peer over the battlements. The tall stone was difficult to navigate for such small boys, but Harald and Ernst could just see over it.

"Looks like they're still camped out there. I can see bonfires and tents..." Ernst said.

Harald squinted, looking too. "Yeah, looks like it. Don't really see anybody, or anything very interesting."

"Hold on a minute, what's that?" Ernst pointed.

"What is it? What is it?" Jens and Hemming bounced eagerly, trying to clamber up onto the stone parapets to see.

Harald held his hand up against his head to shield his eyes from the rising sun. The tents were still and empty, but now he saw the reason why - the entire rebel army was gathering in a clearing on the far side. In the distance, a huge column of dust rose into the sky, and a distant mass was moving towards them. He tried his best to see, and caught the faint glimpses of white and red amongst the distant gathering army.

"It's my uncle!" Harald beamed.

Ernst frowned. "How do you know?"

"Look, there. That banner is white and red, and has the raven. And that one next to it, white with a black cross. Everyone knows that Rosenkrantz's family army fields the green and yellow banners. That cross is a crusaders' symbol, and we Hvide always use white and red. Who else could it be but my uncle, returning to free us from this siege?"

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Ernst frowned. "What do you mean everyone knows..."

"Look! I can see horsemen in the distance. They're riding out to the centre, from both sides." Harald said, pointing.

"I guess Fat Karl is going to parlay." Jens said, squinting a bit. "I can't see that far." He complained.

"Fat Karl?" Hemming asked, looking confused.

"Rosenkrantz's son, he's about as round as that melon you had for breakfast yesterday." Harald explained, looking. "I can see the banner, it's definitely the Hvide Dragon. We're going to be saved!" The eldest Audensen beamed in excitement at this.

"Um...Harald?"

"Yes, they're definitely meeting in the middle. Oh I wish I knew what they were saying, we might see a great battle if we stay here long enough!"

"Harald?"

"What?"

Harald turned and looked behind him, and saw the frowning figures standing there. His mother, Gro, along with the retainer Connor and several other court members, including his mentors Cecilie and Harald Bragde. They were, however, paying less attention to the children and more to the scene unfolding before them.

"I heard they were back on Sjælland, it's good to see that my information was correct." Cecilie commented.

Gro leaned against the parapets thoughtfully. "Connor, see to it that the huscarls are armed and ready to sally forth in a few minutes. If this turns into a battle, I want to be ready to contribute as much as we can."

"How large is the Søborg garrison?" Harald piped up, looking to his mother.

Gro's eyes turned on him, filled with mixed emotions he was struggling to identify. Was that disappointment? Pride? Frustration? She then sighed softly and looked upwards a bit.

"Two-score huscarls, plus another four-score footmen and a score and a half of light horse. Not enough to handle the army outside, but enough to flank and turn the tides of battle against them, if it comes to that."

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"There's so many of them..." Ernst said in awe, seeing the sizeable armies crowd in the distance. "Do you think they'll battle?"

"That depends..." Harald Bragde said.

"On what?" Harald Audensen said, a gleam in his eye.

Cecilie chuckled. "On how stupid Rosenkrantz is. I imagine Skjalm is giving his noble speech now, something about surrendering while the rebels have the chance, and not wanting to spill blood on Danish soil."

"They're moving apart!" One of the watchmen shouted. Harald turned back to look excitably, but felt something grab his shirt and forcibly drag him off the parapets back onto the tile walkway.

"Your mom says you can watch if you want, kid, but you're not going to get yourself killed in the meantime." Harald Bragde grinned, holding the younger kid in his strong grasp.

There was an awkward silence, and then, en masse, a clattering sound in the distance. Harald hopped irritably, trying to see over the wall, standing on his tip-toes. "What's going on? I want to see!"

---- -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----​

"Your terms are acceptable, Hvide." Karl Rosenkrantz lowered his eyes. "Enough blood has been shed on account of this rebellion of my father's, and only a fool would expect this outnumbered rabble to hold against your force." He frowned. "This battle will be over shortly even if we resist. I would rather not face the gallows because of my father's delusions of grandeur."

"Then we are agreed." Skjalm turned and remounted his horse. "Your men are to lay down their arms and proceed a hundred paces forward, where they shall be brought into my custody. There I expect to see the promised levels of submission. If these instructions are followed to the letter, all lives will be spared and men returned home to their families. Then we will discuss the future of the Rosenkrantz family further, a discussion in which your words have been duly noted."

He rode towards the Crusaders' army, a throng of angry Danes, embittered by the long war and dismayed by the thought of another battle for their own homes. The sight of a grinning Hertug returning to them did not assuage their fears, but the bellow he offered to his troops was. "The enemy is surrendering under the fear of our might! There will be no battle today!" His fist struck the air.

Hvide's army burst into excited cheering, throwing their arms in the air and embracing one another. No battle meant no death, and this was a cause for celebration amongst the weary men of Sjælland. Within minutes, the rebel army was laying down their crude, scattered armies and advancing, unarmed, as promised. Skjalm smiled to himself happily - many young men of age would have died here, men who he needed alive to work the fields and the docks, men who would form the core foundation of his new land. Success was not built on the backs of the suppressed dead, but of the successful masses. Hopefully, now that he had returned, things would change in Sjælland.
 
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A little bit belated (about the previous update): as I said before, I absolutely adore Hans. He is everything a person would want in an assassin. How do you not get caught? Of course, you hide on a roof and send a decoy horse out in the street!

And then there is Harald Audensen. That boy is up to no good, and drags others with him too. Of course, he gets caught, although, no one really seems to mind. Guess that's what you get for being the oldest boy in the Hvide clan. ;)

And last, but not least, Skjalm. He is still great. Probably getting a tad old by now, but he still got the skizzles to have the rebels stand down. Bet they didn't expect him to come home at that time!

All in all, great updates. Hope to see more, soon. :D
 
Good on Skjalm, and good that Fat Karl is so reasonable, saved Sjaelland a pile of useless dead.

The kids are lucky they snuck out when the besiegers were preoccupied instead of shooting arrows at them.
 
1) I really liked the battle description of Soloskie Hills. Clever use of missile fire by Skjalm, and some blockheadedness by the Kievans secured the victory, and your words make the battle seem to come alive. I was halfway expecting Skjalm to get killed during the fight, Sedgwick style. Bravo on the tension!

2) I really like Hans. Good assassins make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Especially ones that use a simple rope trick to make all the guards think he's galloping out of the city...

3) The last update marks Skjalm as a true leader as opposed to an army leader bent on vengeance. The greatest campaign is the one that succeeds with the smallest bodycount. Anyone who can swing an axe can kill to reach his goals. A statesmen knows when to use force, and when to make peace. The guilty Rosenkrantz is dead--his son could be put into Hvide's debt? At the very least, it will counteract all the slander of Skjalm being a warmonger...
 
Usual excuses intermittent updates etc. etc.

This update is quite large and honestly it's been intimidating me for awhile, but I finally managed to plunge through it. It's one of the most important for awhile, so here we go!

Enewald: Søborg has always been a fairly sizeable castle...in Piety timeline.

Ilyavania: Hans is one of my favourites, I enjoy writing him, as I enjoy his scheming, plotting and abuse of human psychology to get the best out of him. Harald is starting to get more and more screentime as I try to introduce the characters of the next generation - Skjalm, as you say, is getting old (he's 43 by now, I think) and won't last forever! Harald Audensen is only one of the many who will replace the old crew in time, so I'm going to do my best to ensure they are developed and interesting characters in and of themselves, as opposed to being unfamiliar people who nobody knows at all.

Really glad you like it, hope you like the next update. ^_^

RGB: Fat Karl was indeed quite reasonable, in-game this battle was almost a waste of money as the moment my army showed up, there was a 2 day battle with 0 casualties at which point the entire rebel force disbanded! It cost me 30 ducats to get that army home in time for that!

General_BT: I'm glad you liked it. It was probably the bloodiest, toughest battle of the entire crusade in-game and I was really worried whether I was going to beat them. In the end I did secure victory. Skjalm, despite his leading from the front, has managed to survive where most others have not. He's quite lucky, and picked up a fair bit of prestige off of heroism events to boot! Like I said before, Hans is one of my favourites.

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Chapter 36 – Treaty of Stettin

19th of August, 1077 Anno Domini

Skjalm looked around with wariness as he entered the hall, the sound of music and laughter washing over him and his entourage like a wave. Accompanying him were a number of figures: his brother Auden; Teodor of Gdańsk; young Harald of the Bragde clan and his senior advisors; Chieftain Boris of the Vends and Hochmeister Johann of the Teutonic Order. These were the loyalists that formed the core of his forces, united in their purpose of the crusade. Boris, like many of the Vends, was a Christian convert and had become part of the ‘New Vendish’ people who served as mercenaries and defenders of Denmark. In exchange, they had grown wealthy and prosperous, and their respect amongst the Danes had grown.

Looking around him, Skjalm took notice of many figures already here, eating and drinking – the formal discussions would not be until later in the evening and merriment was first on the menu. Aristocracy, be they the lowest noble or the highest king, would never dally in their chance to enjoy a party. Skjalm soon fetched himself a piece of fruit and sat down at the chair assigned to him, while the rest of his delegation found their own seats. He noted they had been spread apart, presumably to disrupt the ability of Sjælland to form a united group in these discussions. Teodor, like most ‘servants’, was obliged to stand and so would stay near him, as would Marshall Ribbing.

He took the time to examine the other notable men present. His personal knowledge was not so great but with a few questions and attention to detail, he was soon able to identify most everyone. It took him, for example, no time at all to realize that the man sitting to his right was the slavic Prince Udo, one of the Germanized Hevelli people who worshipped the cross and spoke German. The Margraviate of Brandenburg was the northern border of the Empire and Udo’s personal demesne, so he expected that this would be a point of contention in the negotiations.

On the opposite side of the room he saw a tall young man he believed was the Duke of Bohemia, Vratislav II Přemyslid. He seemed deep in discussion with King Bolesław of Poland, something that worried him greatly. What he believed to be ambassadors from the Kingdoms of Sweden, Norway and France had also arrived. France, he reminded himself, had contributed to the Baltic Crusade and seized the fort of Hologast during the initial invasions of Vendland – much to the frustration of the Germans, it still flew the colours of King Philip.

“This is unacceptable.” Udo said with some irritation to Skjalm. “Between you and me, I am certain that the Czechs and Poles should be in competition, yet there they are acting as if they were the best of friends. Have they really forgotten the Piast rule of Prague so quickly?”

“Maybe they’ve found a common goal between them.” Skjalm commented, his German a little shaky but still passable. “Perhaps Vratlisav wishes to use Polish leverage to try and gain lands. He has a lot to make up for after the defeat of his army to Krutoj.”

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“Aye, I was thinking the same. Seeing as how it was my armies that took Stettin, this is most concerning to me. By all rights, those lands now belong to my family.”

“Skjalm!” A voice exclaimed. Skjalm turned and saw a grinning, familiar face. His sour demeanour brightened a bit at the reunion and he stood, widening his arms to embrace his comrade.

“Magnus! No one told me you were coming all the way here.”

The Duke of Saxony grinned widely and accepted Skjalm’s brief hug, then stood back. “The Emperor has requested my presence due to Saxony’s involvement in the crusades. Not to mention it was the perfect excuse to see you, it’s been so many years. I’d heard about Asbjørn but I was too busy to come pay a visit...my apologies.”

Skjalm patted Magnus upon the shoulder. “There is little any of us could have done. He died twice, and each death was as noble and fitting as a Viking hero could ask for. Perhaps our own times will come soon, but perhaps not.”

Udo looked at the pair with curiousity, one eyebrow arched as if in question. “So...you two know one another?”

“Skjalm and I go back a long time, Udo. My father was too busy to raise me after my mother died, so I was sent to the care of the Hvide clan. This old Dane was for a time my mentor and one of my best friends – I owe him a lot, as does all of Christianity. Skjalm is a hero.”

Skjalm shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far, Magnus.”

“I would! Someone has to give you the credit you’re due. I will make sure my family always remembers the great deeds you committed in the Baltic.”

“Conquest is one thing, and only timing and sheer numbers permitted that. The bloody conquest of the Baltic permitted us a great deal of flexibility but now comes the hardest part – retaining that which has been gained! Not only must I ensure that the lands I have earned are kept, but I must also ensure that the people do not rise up. This task will be difficult and undoubtedly will try my patience before the end is upon us.”

“Saxony will vouch for the protection of Vendland, you have our support at least that far. For the rest we have little say, but I will do what I can brother.”

Skjalm nodded – this kind of politics was unlike anything he had engaged in before, but he took some comfort in the knowledge that few others were likely to be experienced in the art. Many rulers were soon going to argue over who deserved what.

There was a hail from the entrance and Skjalm turned to look, and then reflexively winced. Standing side-by-side, laughing and sharing conversation, was the last sight he wanted to see. King Harald Svendsen Knýtling and Emperor Heinrich von Franken, enjoying what seemed to be a very entertaining conversation. The King of Denmark would loathe seeing his arch-rival in Skjalm gain more power, and Skjalm was certain his obsequiousness was to gain the Emperor’s support.

He took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. The last guests were filtering in; it would do him no good to panic now. He nodded to Magnus and took his seat as the others found their own. Once everyone was settled, the real thing would begin. He was brushing shoulder to shoulder with men far above his stature, and his skin tingled with excitement and nervousness. Now was the time to prove his worth in words.

------ -=-=- ----- -=-=- -----

treatyofstettinbefore.png

Northern Europe, Pre-Crusades

“The point still stands, the size of territory this...this...Duke has acquired is beyond irresponsible, he is no King nor does he hold royal status.” King Harald scoffed. “Would you have this vassal of Denmark rule such a great tract of land? By all rights it belongs to the Kings of Denmark!”

“I object, it is hardly different to, say, my own rule over Stettin!” Udo protested, standing up. “Would you claim that we, the Dukes of these lands, do not deserve the right to keep what we too have conquered?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, princes of the Empire are quite different. Why should we let this northerner rule what is by all rights Imperial territory?” Vratislav stated with irritation.

“We are in agreement that the contributions of all members of the Crusade need to be recognized, and their participation honoured and gifted. Skjalm, what say you?” Emperor Heinrich said, gesturing to the Dane.

The Dane stood and bowed his head. “Emperor.” He turned to the others. “It is true that the deeds of all men must be recognized, but it is also true that many men of Denmark gave their lives in this Crusade. In all, over ten thousand men served directly under the colours of Sjælland, of which many lost their lives and for which Denmark suffered a blow. The lands we have taken were honourably won, and to Danish hands much of them has been promised already. Not just to my own Hvide clan, but also to the brave men of the Bragde clans, the Ribbing clans and even to the Knýtling clan, something which my liege seems to forget in his protests.”

“Sjælland lays claim to everything east of the Oder river, how can we not protest my liege? This is a disgrace, no room is left for the brave Germans and Poles who gave up their lives, nor for the Czechs or the Wends who fought in battle in the name of the cross.” Vratislav scoffed.

“Danish troops were at the front lines of every battle in those eastlands, and won most of the land on their own blood, sweat and tears. The Poles were hardly to be seen, and the Germans who crossed east pledged allegiance to the Hvide or flew under their banners! How can this not be seen as our territorial rights?” Skjalm protested, looking a little flustered.

“The Danes are too hungry for conquest, have we not forgotten their bloodthirsty past? It has not been long since their kind invaded Anglia, and for generations throughout history they have terrorized the north. Why should we make this concession for them?” The emissary of France frowned.

“As if France can talk!” Sweden interrupted. “The French refuse to surrender Hologast and would bitterly hold on to that fort despite none of its surrounding land belonging to it by right.”

“Aye, Sweden is right, your King’s insistence on this move is aggressive not just to me but also to Germany as a whole!” Udo shouted in frustration.

“Might I remind you that this man has papal blessings!” Interrupted another voice, that of the Archbishop of Bremen. “I have a letter from the Pope speaking of his great support for Skjalm’s deeds, declaring him one of the most pious men of the north. It is his personal wish that Skjalm be responsible for ruling over Baltia, for such a pious, level-headed man is the perfect candidate to bring the heathens under the care of Christianity.”

Emperor Heinrich scoffed. “The Pope is a long way from here, father, and while his opinion is noted, it will be we who decide how best to divvy the spoils of conquest.”

Duke Magnus raised himself up. “My Emperor, while the cries of protest by the King of Denmark are understandable, Skjalm has earned his family’s right to rule over the pagan lands. Perhaps he will be successful in establishing a Christian state there where the efforts of others have failed, and perhaps it is he who can stand as a bulwark against the Russians, who continually threaten the borders of the Poles, and who refuse to accept the Pope as the one true figurehead of Christ.”

King Bolesław nodded in agreement. “I can generally agree that a Danish ally against the Russians would be a positive thing – they have given me no end of torment and their barbaric values go against everything we as true Christians believe in. I will not, however, easily surrender what is mine. At the least, the lands surrounding Chełmno monastery are predominantly Polish – those people should return to the rule of the Piast, and not remain under Hvide control. This much we demand.”

A pounding on the heavy wooden tables ensued. “Aye, we’re in agreement, Chełmno monastery and the surrounding towns and villages are Polish by right!” Vratislav was quite noisy. It seemed clear he was trying to earn the favour of the Polish King.

treatyofstettin.png

Skjalm frowned, it was clear he was not going to get away from this negotiation without losses, it was probably all he could do to mitigate these losses as much as he could.

“Very well, I am willing to turn over those lands to the King of Poland, but what of Trusø? It lies not far downstream from Chełmno and it is one of the most important settlements of the region. Surely you do not expect me to surrender it to you?” Skjalm folded his arms, looking sternly at the Piast King.

Heinrich raised his hand. “Aye, I’ve thought of this, and I have a proposal that might suit you. I understand the Knights Teutonic have been left in charge of Trusø as a temporary arrangement. I would suggest this arrangement becomes permanent. It is a perfectly positioned outpost from them, and provides an Imperial outpost in the east as well as a safe administrator for the most important trade centre of the Baltic. Danes and Germans ought to both profit by such a measure.”

Hochmeister Johann’s face grinned a little, but he remained silent.

“Aye, Trusø to the Teutons. Let us create a proper buffer between Germany and the rest of the East.”

Skjalm thought about this. While Gdansk was held by his own troops, much of the region was land promised to the Knýtling clan and thus held subject to the familial claims of his liege. Perhaps this was the best time to do some politics of his own.

“Very well, then a proper buffer we should create. While the lands of the Vistula River fall under the jurisdiction of the Piast and the Teutonic Order, we should see to the lands west of that. It is my proposal that everything between the Oder and Vistula rivers be created into an independent Duchy of Pomeralia, neither Imperial nor Danish in origin, ruled only by itself. This state will serve as a neutral buffer zone between the Danish Baltic territory and the Empire’s own lands.”

Heinrich stroked his chin in thought when King Harald smashed his fist into the table. “Unacceptable - ludicrous! You cannot accept this proposal, he seeks merely to weaken my own gains while strengthening his own!”

Udo laughed and simply nodded. “I think the Duke’s proposal is an excellent one for the Empire, it has my approval.”

“Aye, and mine!” The Duke of Bohemia chipped in. Most of the other parties seemed relatively nonplussed.

“Very well, the Duchy of Pomeralia shall be established for the Pommern people forthwith, a suitable ruler will have to be selected, someone without reason for bias.” Heinrich clapped his hands. “Do we have any suggestions?”

Johann raised his hand. “Aye, I’ve got one.”

“Speak.”

“That man.” He pointed towards Teodor, whose surprised visage stood next to Skjalm. “He may be an advisor of the Dane, but he also be from Gdansk, of noble blood and most importantly, a born and raised Christian. I see no reason why we ought not to elevate him to the status of Duke of Pomeralia, such that he might maintain the loyalty of his people and act as the barrier we desire.

“A Hvide advisor as the ‘neutral’ ruler? Ludicrous!” Harald burst out again.

“This ‘Hvide advisor’ is also an indentured servant of the clan following his capture in battle. We would earn ourselves a great ally by freeing him, no?” Johann said with a grin to the Emperor. “It’s only good for all of us, the Hvide have one less potentially dangerous element to live with and we have our neutral ruler.”

Skjalm stayed silent. Teodor wasn’t exactly of noble blood that he was aware, but Johann was doing him a favour and he wasn’t going to stop that.

Heinrich nodded and waved his hand. “Let it be done! Pommeranian man, come forth and tell me, what noble family do you claim descent from?”

“My family has no formal name as your own German dynasties might, we simply state that we are of Gdańsk.” Teodor explained, his German a little choppy.

“Unacceptable! No, your people must learn to live and rule like we civilized folk. I propose that a formal noble title, recognized by the Empire and the Kings of Denmark and Poland be created, to solidify this creation.” Heinrich raised his hands. “All in favour?”

A chorus of Ayes resounded from most of the nobles present, leaving only the King of Denmark in his silent sulking. His eyes shot daggers at Skjalm, but the Duke ignored it for the moment. This was a success for Sjælland, in that he had successfully locked the King out of the Eastern Baltic.

“What shall the new folk of Teodor’s legacy be named?” Heinrich queried the room.

“The Pommeranians, despite being heavily outnumbered, fought with courage and strength, but also held the wisdom to surrender before all their number were lost. So too did they allow for the pious work of our missionaries to enter their lands, pushing people to the true path of Christianity. Surely we should think of an image suited to this fact.” Johann said thoughtfully.

“The Pommeranian people are said to be kin to my own Poles, they should take an avian symbol as their form, surely!” King Bolesław added.

“Let it be a griffin!” Said Udo. “What other beast might capture such an image so perfectly?”

Teodor looked like he wanted to have a say in his own name, but ended up saying nothing. He was lucky enough to be considered to begin with.

“Agreed! From henceforth you shall be known as Duke Teodor of the House of Griffins, is this acceptable to you?” Heinrich said, looking to the slav.

“Y-yes Emperor, more than acceptable!” Teodor said, trying to avoid the stutter in his voice. He was shocked that such events had worked so thoroughly in his favour.

“The last matter is that of the northern tribes. I understand that the Norwegians have laid claim to several stretches of land along the territory of the Curonian tribes, and that the Swedes and Gotlanders have seized a great deal north of Lithuania.” Heinrich said, examining the primitive map of Europe before him.

“Correct, your Majesty.” The Swedish ambassador said. “The Republic of Gotland had laid claim to the isles around Ösel, and we have successfully taken a great deal of the Estonian lands, despite interference by the vile easterners from Polotsk. We wish cooperation, not competition, with our Danish neighbours and would rather come to a clean agreement.”

Skjalm frowned. “Riga belongs to the Danes, it is an important settlement, but I would propose that everything north of the Daugava becomes lands of the Swedish King. Would this be held as acceptable to you?”

The Swedish ambassador thought for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, this is in line with the instructions of my liege. We are in agreement.”

“Very well, all that remains is the matter of the Wendish territories.” Heinrich leaned forward. “I understand that the territory is currently ruled by Prince Udo, and I wish for this to remain in our control. Under the Treaty as we are prepared to sign it, I propose that these lands should remain under Imperial control, from the borders of Vendland to where we sit in Stettin.”

“Aye, this is acceptable.” Came from Skjalm, along with another chorus of agreements.

“I do not believe that such lands should remain under Udo’s control my liege, what does he know of how to rule such large territories? Allow me to reign there!” Vratislav interrupted.

“Silence, Vratislav! The details of who within the Empire shall control this territory shall be arranged at a further date and is irrelevant to this conference of nobility.”

There was a dark silence, at which the Bohemian Duke looked away.

Heinrich looked around. “Have we any other business to attend to? No? Then have the scribes formalize the notes onto one parchment, and let us sign this agreement. These divisions between countries are formal, internal divisions shall be based upon the desires of the individuals. May each govern their lands as best determined by the Grace of God, and let Him guide us to successfully bring God to the pagans of the lands.”

treatyofstettinafter.png

Northern Europe, Post-Crusades

There was relative silence as the scribes scratched out the details of the treaty, describing vaguely worded borders as agreed by the discussions. It was already well known to every man in that chamber that this agreement would be prone to discrepancies of all sorts and that conflict would inevitably rise over who claimed what. It was also known that where Skjalm had been given Catholic acknowledgment of the rule of all of Lithuania, much of this now fell under the command of Polotsk. As the parchment passed to Skjalm, he took the pen and signed his name and title, granting his approval to the treaty. That day, only one name was not signed, that of the Ambassador of France, who refused to accept the loss of Hologast.

The territory gained by Sjælland was a great boon to Denmark, and Skjalm had earned himself a place in history. While Sjælland held less than half of the territory it had claimed before the treaty, it was overall viewed as a success that the ruler of an island in northern Europe would be able to achieve such explosive gains so quickly. The King of Denmark, having gained little during the time of the Baltic Crusades, was understandably worried.
 
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I think we can safely add 'political boundaries' with 'laws' and 'sausages' in the list of things you don't want to watch being made. :p An opportunistic, squabbling bunch that you captured perfectly. Skjalm lost alot of his claims, but his lands grew enormously, despite his lost gains. Are there plans to move the Hvide seat to these new lands?
 
So now Skjalm has more land than his liege. Add to this the allies he has among the Baltic coast and the Danish king has a lot to be worried about. I fear the great crusader will have christian blood to spill next.